Long Exaggerated Poems
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What do you believe?
What do you know?
did you have any clue i read tarot cards professioanlly for the oldest restarunt built
in my city
and predict surprised birthday parties that have passed
and cfan tell you all sorts of secrets of exaggerated emotion and paranoia
that only the moon knows
So like the life lesson of the hanged man
are you here to realise you are gullible or to see through me and know ive been
telling the truth
is this a test for you flase prophet
or your spiritual awakening with another card before you saying all of my poetic
poems that sound personal are nothing more than fabrications
and many of you judge me
and that further goes to prove my writing ability?
Is it true do i know anything of being bonded to the material
and the devil who reminds me the keys to my chains are within my grasp
And the tower of unforseen catastrophe always has a happy ending or a rainbow
but only a true prophet in the year 2012 in las vegas understands the
conspirtualacy of my craft
Is the hierophant all about the conformity of society
and the grouping together of the nonconformidt youth
so when the saints and sinners pull to gether to revolutionise and pull this star
from the sky will our dreams or nightmares come true?
Tell me prophet Am i a fool because the magician never taught me his tricks
but i understand the perfect shufles and have a deck of freudian slips of my own?
the blue moon sunrise and the three levels of the game of reality
we take babysteps of fear to beat or fail to proceed or return to the start
Where exactly is the emperor's crown of authority when society understands the
slide of psychology
and the one of a million being catered to
and the billion sof like minded individuals that spiral out from this psychological
understanding
Am i in the driver seat of the chariot and do i have enough temperance
to balance the forces of good and bad to see the pros and cons
of the blessings and ultimatums of desires and consequence
were you gullible all this time to fall for my lies?
or were you smart enough to see them as works of art?
or are you a true prophet and need to start the revolution from the earth and the
pollution of our skies
here i am
a false martyr
tell me prophet whats in store for me
and what am i to do?
Grandpa the Master Magician
Grandpa was old and creaked
like a well-worn floorboard
but he always carried a smile with him
which generally won the day or the situation.
He had just spent time with his two grandchildren
which had added fun to his morning’s recipe.
They saw Grandpa as this master magician
capable of producing an egg from either nostril
..…. boiled or not.
An eggcellent start to any day!!
Later, on an icicle of an afternoon
and confronted by a presumptuous wind
which blew him around street corners;
he found himself happily chasing his youth.
Newspaper and chocolate treat acquired
he set off for the finishing line of home.
He noted that the traffic lights were changing to red!
So, although not at the proper crossing, his GPS
i.e. Grandpa’s Priority Selector
was saying…GO! GO! GO!
However so was a fast-approaching Fiat 500!
Grandpa felt validated by time and experience so..
he sailed forth but time and his knees didn’t agree.
His legs instead of speeding up, started slowing down
which was the exact opposite of the flying Fiat,
driven ruthlessly by a manic-panicked driver
who exaggerated a swerve around Grandpa
with arms orchestrating her extremely annoyed thoughts.
Grandpa tottered on oblivious to the orchestrations.
He felt composed being lean, leathery and learned
as opposed to the driver’s ill-fed, ill-bred, ill-mannered approach.
However Grandpa, the master magician, wasn’t to be thwarted
so as his feet touched pavement, his hand touched cap,
then his winning smile and a flicked wave of politeness.
The driver just continued with her orchestration of
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in C Minor
while mouthing, “Is your brain on holiday!”
However life was to offer Granpa a final judgement
for as the traffic lights winked from red to green
our driver was still in a boil of botheration until…
a honk of reprimand from behind grabbed her attention.
Frustrated she tried to floor the accelerator pedal
but only succeeded in stalling the engine.
The horn hoots and toots began queuing up
until the Fiat 500 burnt rubber and swivel-hipped away.
Grandpa’s face showed not a flicker of amusement
but he allowed his bones to enjoy the moment -
particularly the funny one!
Then the wind giggled up, clapped him on the back
and then kindly blew him gently home!
Endurance is not of your nature,
Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck,
Now brazen silver does linger,
Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last,
Sorrowful trek...
I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor,
And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue.
You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds...
They drape their vile vined misted shrouds...
Within my gray eyed gaze,
Such hues temper your violent palette...
Vanished breath-flickered candle haze.
Lifeless wick, gurgling crimson wax.
Your beloved paint trickles in balmy clotted puddles,
I shudder adorned in radiant rubies rolling from my fingertips,
I feel your veteran-mastered art pouring from my throat...
Am I not your first? What imaginative vision you possess!
For it is not to say mine is fading, fleeting plasma afloat.
They told me of your gift,
How endowed you are,
Able to plunge, plunge, plunge,
Your hands into the crevices of torment,
In your swayed, celestial delusion,
You heaven's exile, wicked-bound and hell sent.
Engraved in lifeless form ascending from tip to hilt,
Still I lie mesmerized by the atrocity,
Of apathy jaundiced guilt.
Predator, what is your name?
May I slip your ill-willed syllables from my lips,
for you have brought my tamed veins shame.
I value your corrupt knowledge found pledge,
As you mar my shivering body to your own image,
Ingenuity, you said was the plight laid upon razor's edge.
Poetic justice you explained was reason to heal,
Mankind in his errors,
Of humanity's devil-signed, soul-phantom deal.
If I could speak I'd ask for the pen,
Should I sign in ink? Skin pricked red-wine?
Rolled parchment, contract or covenant?
Sign here along the dotted line?
I lift the golden-feathered needle,
And pierce, finger signature in place,
Advocate of Satan take my soul,
Where we are then,
Vaccuum-voided into fiery space.
I look back up at you with word choked reply,
Sputtering the eruptive branch volcano,
You snicker an exaggerated pain cry,
You tell me my soul's been granted,
I was never given choice,
You said, "You gave that up when I slit,
Your moral stained choral-voice...."
How I regret your wicked lures...
Your profound and deafening words,
The afterlife has no meaning,
Only death does gleam,
On Steel Sharpened Spurs...
Form:
The American Library Association
implores cognoscenti tubby alert
for impersonators, who
call themselves Ernie and Bert
took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,
(who worked for Peanuts),
and pay-dirt, though
dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous
sordid details suppressed kept from press,
(which scurrilous breach of conduct)
involved said scallywag
violating more than flirt
discovered in prurient compromised activity,
where his skin flute encircled,
with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected
public television station benefactors,
and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly
to make a profit) sounding proper
sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
asper faux expected by
a "FAKE" trumpeting prophet,
sans motley crue comic
stripped of more'n
motion picture PG ratings,
hence future lurid, graphic,
banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
muted, disallowed, and banned
so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
(who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
returning amidst fanfare hoopla
much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
glory and apple pie order land
ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
and horrifyingly
brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
whereat armed guards
strategically stationed
at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable
ravishing knowledge
hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
faster then Clifford
the big red dog re: oh speed
wagon in toto (oz suppose)
to escape paginated bound woes,
but especially to flee bozos
not tubby confused with Bezos -
(the richest cat on planet Earth),
whose cashiered spigot flows
née gushes without any need to faucet.
The parents whose 12-year-old son was just laid to rest
From spraying bullets exploding in his young body’s chest
The father whose daughter was tortured and raped
By monsters initiating in a criminal gang
She will never see her fourteenth birthday
The shopkeeper, who after taxes is barely making his life’s wage
And totally depends on the paltry money his hard work can make
The mother of five beautiful children who went out
For a routine run on a beautiful sunny day,
But will never return to their waiting arms;
All their lives shattered in a heinous and brutal way.
The military veteran who lost his legs, as he served us all in a made-up war
Now sleeps on the concrete in a filthy corner of San Francisco Bay
The innocent 2nd grader, a tiny blonde blue-eyed girl,
Is left confused and unsure
When her trusted teacher says she’s a racist
Who has destroyed the world
The toddler sitting on his mother’s lap who looks on in dismay
As a mustached man, dressed as a woman in exaggerated makeup
Gyrates and sings vulgar songs just inches from his unprotected face
The girls soccer team whose teammate lost half of her face
Refuses to compete with transgender men whose genitals are now misplaced
The Texas rancher whose family must clean up behind
The millions of crossings in a continuous unending line
Of criminal invaders whose tons of trash and broken bodies are scattered
Among his unproductive fields and livestock in rotting tatters
The aching backs of hard-working taxpayers whose treasure
Has been looted and their protesting voices silenced;
For four years they had no say where their money goes.
It’s now enriching Iran, Ukraine and who else, nobody knows.
Nearly a half million young children lost their innocence,
And many their lives, sold into slavery in factories
And as sexual slaves; Grievous Evil modeling the Chinese way
Nearly 80 million Americans, sick to death of insanity, evil and deceit
All rose together to fight the rancid leftist coastal elites.
Together extinguishing the rule of disloyal leaders, fascists, racists,
Their eyes shining with hope that there can now be an end.
Each one’s voice and vote counted this time as they shouted,
“President Donald J Trump will fix it and make America great again!”
Here it comes again, the daily reminder ...
cold sweats out of nowhere that hit me like a slap
on the face, my entire body turning clammy wet in an
instant, three-or-four times every day. Then there's the
uncontrollably exaggerated yawning and eyes that won't stop
watering, a runny nose as if instant hay fever, and that nearly in-
tolerable creepy muscle thing ... that's the worst symptom of all by
far, (akathisia, it's called), because you CAN'T hold still - all your bones
and muscles have to move at once, or you quite simply can NOT tolerate it.
I always say a prayer that it only happens a few
times each day, and only lasts for a short time, but
to be honest, it's a nightmare, and inside I'm cursing ...
cursing myself for this reminder. The reminder of a terribly
bad decision that I made thirty years ago. Oh, my "problem"
is under control, thanks to a wonder drug that did indeed save
my life, (when my heart stopped thrice), and while I no longer abuse
anything, that accursed monkey is still there, riding me like a two-dollar
mare, and reminding me a few times each day, that it's completely in control.
Yes, I'm alive and writing this because of it, and
as thankful as a human can be, truly, but I'm light-
years from the obliged kiss-off I dream about giving it.
You see, it creates another problem all its own, one they
don't tell you about when you start on "The Program", that
this particular monkey, while having the power to save your life,
is also the strongest, most tenacious monkey that exists, by FAR,
and the chance of you ever giving it that dreamed-about final goodbye,
are easily the longest odds you've ever had, especially with a weakened heart.
But you push your mind to try to remain thankful
nonetheless, because after all, you ARE still alive ...
alive and kicking and getting these wonderfully horrific
reminders each day, of just how little control and charge
and health and power you have over your own life ... alive
and moving through life like you have a giant condom on your
body and mind and emotions, not really FEELING or emoting or
experiencing much of anything in the way a human being SHOULD be,
but alive and breathing and functioning ... you ARE still alive ... aren't you?
Memorable - "I remember the time when...." (Aah!...the good old days!)
Puzzled - "What time is it?" (Time for a watch!)
Philosophical - "Time is of the essence!" (You can smell time???)
Exaggerated - "If I told you once, I told you a million times!" (A million??...REALLY)
Request - "May I have more time?" (Yeah, get it out of the bucket!)
Panic - "I NEED MORE TIME!!!" (Sorry, fresh out of time!)
Procrastination - "I'll do it the next time!" (Um....Maybe!)
Encouragement - "You'll do better the next time!" (Be ready!)
Threatening - "You just wait 'til the next time!" (Uh-Oh!")
Wishful - "When I get some more time!" (It's in the mail!)
Pondering - "How much time do I have?" (Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock!)
Questioning - "When was the last time?" (Cmon, think hard now!)
Acceptance - "Time waits for no one!" (Missed that bus again!)
WHAT????? - "Time and time again!" (When was the first time???)
Admonishment - "Don't waste my time!" (The bucket's almost empty!)
Ceasing - "Time out!!!" (Whoa...stop right there!)
Foolish - "Turn back the hands of time!" (Good luck on that one!!!)
Regret - "Time is what I don't have!" (Buddy, can you spare a time?)
Boasting - "Yeah....I've got the time!" (My loan rate is 100% interest!)
???????? - "Where did the time go???" (I know it's around here somewhere!)
Advice - "Be on time!" (Don't be late again!)
Wanting - "Give me some more time!" (Gimme!...Gimme!...Gimme!)
Truth - "There is no more time!" (Come back tomorrow...if there's time!)
Reality - "I'm running out of time!" (Then pick up the pace!)
Upset - "Do you know what time it is???" (You must be crazy! Look at the time!!!)
Pleading - "Do you have any time???" (Buddy, can you spare another time?)
Realization - "I need to make the time!" (Now where did I put that recipe???)
Befuddled - "I lost track of the time!" (Where, oh where has my little time gone??)
It escaped - "Time got away from me!" (Time to get a leash!)
Falsehood - "You can make up the time!" (Counterfeit time???)
Biblical - "....and a time to every purpose under heaven:) (Don't forget this one!)
The Best One - "You have ALL the time in the world!" (BEWARE of that one!!!)
I got my eyes set on you
Got my eyes set on you
Saw right through the lies too...
Yeah, wanted you to know, boo
Time turns to dust this time
Wipe off disgraceful grime
From off your feet
Of incomplete
The aftermath of your wrath
Got me one foot off His path
The aura of oblivion is on fire
I am but a balloon, going higher
And, you, you're to blame
Funny, you think me lame
You wreck me with your crooked ways
You don't even care these days...days...
I float and drift away
You let go of me...
It's your fault I'm this way...
At least I am free...
I am in the boat of shame
I might even dive deep this time
You played me like a game
I hit the road like a rusty, old dime
You ruined my frame of mind
You made me almost blind
I did mind, getting left behind
Good luck, trying to find me
Good luck, for IDC...my mystery...
So, come find me possibly
It's too late to fix this awful scar
It's too late, you've gone too far
Guess it's fate we remain who we are
Guess you will forget me, a lonely jar
You were my beloved friend
You uplifted me so much
You gave me a hand to lend
We were so close in touch
There's no where to roam
Might as well head home
I saw right through your pain
In exchange, you gave me acid rain
A rain that will eventually go down the drain
A rain that has been driving me literally insane
But, obviously, IDC anymore...
You don't either...
You will never see to the core...
Oh, won't bother...
I avert my silent gaze in another direction
You gave me rejection instead of affection
You told me the exaggerated truth at last
But, honey, it's too late...left it in the past
In the past where it truly belongs
I look up and ascend your wrongs
IDC if you don't accept my forgiveness
Regardless, I don't hold ugly grudges
I got time to let go...
Of sorrow and woe
Wipe off the dust from your feet
Then, from here, we will meet
Won't shed no tears...drown them with cheers
Now, you and I care, so please...
Don't even be a goofy tease!
We will start over, no worries
The aura of His unconditional mercy appears
To be expanding so at ease
He got His eyes set on us
His graceful gaze is a plus
We are now two balloons
In the blessed breeze
This revolutionary fella followed by
Adams family patriarch,giving rise
twin heir (plain lee gifted "Renaissance
Man") Jeff force'n without hemming
and hawing, subsequently conceding
nexus (nor horse drawn Lexus) of Colonial
power to Madison, thence Monroe
buttoned up as suitable candidate after
which younger Adams elected.
Thirty four followed Jackson's club
trumpeting (some Obama nib bully)
bushwhacking their way predicated
on faulty Algorithm, charming
charismatically with hint of Clint
like glint in eyes, blinding populace,
sans ray gun (Reagan), Car Tour ring
with peanut gallery in tow, affording
(unpopularly pardoning unfashionably),
a Jerry rigged nixed son, followed
by John's son tainted by stain of Vietnam,
but with said Southeast Asian debacle,
one ken heady (sporting thick styled hair)
inherited an internecine conflict, essentially
precipitated, when Eisenhower hardened
political stance against any allies of the
Soviet Union, (sans The Viet Cong), and
pledged his firm support to Diem
and South Vietnam.
Now with preceding administration, one
harried true man unleashed advent of atomic
spectra upon Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, this
purported preemptive measure scary ruse
felt to thwart exaggerated Japanese government
threat (military intelligence) scheming to
wreak untold havoc upon American troops
within the Pacific theater of World War II.
The former horrific decision controversial,
then and to this day Hoover expert historian,
diverge, asper corroborating the necessity
to usher in the Cold War, yet majority foreign
policy wonks might grudgingly attest that
said thirty first commander in chief did maintain
a Cool Edge throughout onset when doomsday
clock began countdown to Armageddon,
an unimaginably blaring, deafening, earsplitting...
cacophony distant rumbles heard, nonetheless,
no Hard dinning ghoulish nightmare (potentially
obliterating all life on planet Earth) haunted
Wilson, nor Taft, only gunboat diplomacy
mere child's play exhorted, less catastrophic
comparison, when Teddy Roosevelt wielded
"big stick schtick" namesake corollary to the
Monroe Doctrine in 1904...ad nauseum.
I stand naked wrapped only in the truth
you vile, loathsome reptile.
My contempt of you is limitless
as I have been force-fed your hypocrisy.
Your postulations are lost on me
as my insight into your repulsive nature
is exceeded only by the palpable stench of your aura.
Eyes opened to their widest apex,
ridiculously lends support to your “jokerish”
smile overly exaggerated in a…
Carol Channing kind of muse.
It seems your purse a revolving door
to his wants, has an ideally broken clasp…
Your shoulder, a never ending
tissue to his every sorrow should be waterlogged.
Which stands to reason why your legs
stretched open as wide as the earth’s axis,
“she-doggedly-in-heat” sniffs attention from him
and remains open like an all night 7-11 just to
provide “respite” in the name of “friendship”.
You find joy in slinking and scurrying through
the misfortunes and/or gains in our life,
all the while professing your love to him
and masticating on a stolen covenant
you have orchestrated in destroying.
There is no sector of my day
allowing me peace and escape from your
treachery and continued debauchery.
Your hair once a mousy shade of brown
now waxes blond in your further attempt
to assure he remains suckled at your breast
knowing his lust for blond haired, blue eyed
women that are six shades lighter than my ebony hues.
There is though, an appellative to my anguish,
which recoils from my tongue at
any attempt to voice this rage.
Escalating anger marinates and broils within
my breast as your ubiquitous presence
in my life has finally left me little strength
and no shelter from the uncloaked
vicious pain searing me to the core
in this deep abyss I have found myself in…
Unleashed fury beckons me, reaching back beyond now
when day was night and night was only imagined
barely controlling this hate and
the exigency to extract myself
from this nefarious, cheap, vaudevillian
show, which no longer can be ratiocinated
through your insipid lies before I...
Can’t imagine your expending this much
energy with your own household or husband because
you’re always living and breathing in mine!
Contempt has a name…and its malodor is…Linda.